


When Dawn Breaks

by Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Child Abuse, Crying, Crying Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugs, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, John Winchester Abuses Dean Winchester, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Sad Dean Winchester, Soft Dean Winchester, Sweet Dean Winchester, Younger Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23414515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound/pseuds/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound
Summary: While on a hunt for a witch, Dean comes across the box that seems to be causing all this trouble. Apparently, it teleports its victims back in time for an hour before depositing them back in the present.Since he doesn't always think before he acts, Dean touches the box before Sam can stop him.He is teleported back to a very important day in Dean Winchester History. January 24th, 1995.And when he finds his sixteen year-old self in an alley behind the motel, crying because John beat him? Well, maybe he can't fix his own sixteenth birthday. But he can sure as hell give his younger self something he wished he had all those years ago.Or, the one fic nobody asked for where Dean gives his younger self a much-needed hug. And pretends to be Castiel along the way.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 294





	When Dawn Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I thought of this at three in the morning and decided to give it a go. Enjoy!

Dean frowned down at the box on the table.

It was small, nondescript. Made of cherry wood, about the size of a ring box. He would have looked over it if it hadn't been for the intricate symbols carved into the side.

"Sammy, what exactly is this thing?" he asked into the phone he held to his ear.

His brother sighed, the sound crackling through the electronic device. "I think it's some sort of curse box. I don't know. Have you found it?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, kneeling down. He was currently in the abandoned study of the old house he and Sam had located. The only thing in the study was a desk, and the only thing on the desk was the box. Dean squinted at it in the light of his flashlight.

"What does it look like?" Sam asked. Dean described it to him and his brother sighed. "Yeah. The symbols could mean anything. Can Cas read them?"

"No. He says they're written in an ancient language or some shit," Dean replied. "He's downstairs right now, looking for more clues. Do you have anything?"

"No," Sam said, frustration lacing his tone. "I've been interviewing people all day. The victims have no connection whatsoever."

"Nothing?" Dean asked, surprised.

"Nothing outside of the case. The only thing that connects the victims is the fact that they all disappeared for an hour and came back babbling about time travel."

"That's what this thing is supposed to do?" Dean asked, picking up the box and inspecting the carvings.

"No. I don't know," Sam sighed. "Just don't touch it, okay? I'm coming in the Impala, I'll be there in a few."

Dean froze, eyes on the box in his hand. "What if. . . What if I _did_ touch it?"

There was a pause. "Dean, you dumbass, did you touch the box?" Sam finally asked.

"Maybe," Dean replied, wincing.

"Dean, how could you be so stupid? For God's sake-" The line went dead.

Dean frowned. "What? Sammy? Hello?" He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the black screen. "Fuck."

He was still standing in the study. Nothing had changed. 

Pocketing the box, Dean went to the door.

"Cas? Castiel? You there?" he asked.

No answer. There was no noise in the house.

Cursing, Dean stepped outside of the study and promptly fell to his knees. Except he didn't hit old wooden floorboards. He barked his knees on cold cement.

Pavement.

Dean looked up. "Son of a bitch," he murmured.

He wasn't in the study anymore. He was kneeling outside of a familiar-looking motel, the night sky wide and dark above him.

So maybe the box _did_ do something. Dean had somehow been teleported somewhere.

He got up, brushing himself off, and looked around. There was a newspaper box a few feet away. Feeling slightly woozy, Dean stumbled toward it.

His blood went cold.

The date on the newspaper read January 24th, 1995.

Feeling sick, Dean looked up at the motel. He definitely remembered this place. And if he turned his head, parked in the corner of the parking lot. . . Yes.

The Impala sat in the shadow of a tree, gleaming softly in the light of the neon motel sign.

Sam's words came back, echoing in Dean's head. _The only thing that connects the victims is the fact that they all disappeared for an hour and came back babbling about time travel._

_Time travel. No shit._

Dean swallowed looking around. He remembered this night like it was yesterday. His eyes flicked up to the farthest room to the right, Room 14. If he walked in, he would find John passed out on the bed closest to the door, Sammy on the one next to it.

And if he turned, if he looked in the alley behind the motel. . .

Dean abruptly began walking, not knowing what he was doing or why, just knowing that there was _something_ compelling him to go that way.

As he neared the back of the motel, his footsteps became stealthy. He put all of his skills into staying quiet, knowing that the teenager that was hiding behind the dumpsters had incredibly good ears.

As Dean crept behind the motel and into the alley, he listened hard. Soon, once he got far enough down the alley, he began to hear the soft sniffling of someone trying to stay quiet while crying.

As he rounded a dumpster, his heart nearly stopped in his chest.

There was a teenager on the ground, curled in a tight ball against the chill in the air. He was crying softly, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs.

He was younger, far younger, but the dark blond hair and green eyes were unmistakable.

Dean stared at the boy from the shadows, hand going into his pocket and fingering the box that still sat there.

_Time travel._

He was just about to get up and possibly move away when the teenage boy raised his head and glared right at where he was standing. "Who's there? I'll fight you, you son of a bitch!"

He stood, but his movements were slow and painful. Dean winced. If he remembered right, what had just gone down here was not something good to remember.

Realizing he was about to get stabbed by this teenager, he stepped out of the shadows and held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"Hey, hey, it's all good. I'm not trying to hurt you," he said.

The young man snorted. "Sure. You're just staring at me from the shadows of a back alley because you want to share your cupcake with me. Who the fuck are you?"

Dean winced. His mind scrambled, desperately clawing for anything to say. The image of dark hair and blue eyes flashed across his mind and he replied without thinking. "I'm your guardian angel."

"Sure, and I'm Scooby Doo. Who the _fuck_ are you?" the teenager growled, stepping closer. His right hand was straying to his pocket, where Dean knew a silver knife was kept.

"I-I can prove it," he said, still holding out his hands non-threateningly. He fought the urge to back up as the young man advanced a few more steps, eyes dark with anger and barely disguised fear.

"How?" the boy demanded.

"Your name is Dean Winchester," Dean said quietly. "It's your sixteenth birthday. Your brother's name is Sam, and he's four years younger than you. Your father is John Winchester."

"Okay, so you're a stalker. Nice," his younger self said.

"You're hunters," Dean continued. He watched as the younger Dean tensed. "You're on a hunt for a witch."

"Still not convinced," the teenager replied, but Dean could tell that he was starting to doubt himself. 

Dean swallowed, digging into his memory reserves. He struggled to remember how he felt that night, what had been running through his head.

"Your ribs hurt and you have bruises on your legs and arms. You're wondering what you're going to tell Sammy. You're going to tell him it was from a previous hunt, but it's really. . . " Dean swallowed past the tightness in his throat. He didn't want to say it, but he knew it was necessary. "But it's really from John's steel-toed boots."

His younger self flinched, looking down.

There was a brief moment of silence. Dean watched, hands still in the air, waiting. The young man said nothing.

His right hand fell away from his pocket.

Dean relaxed a little. 

Something else pushed at the back of his mind.

That silver knife in his pocket. In his younger self's pocket. He hadn't been anticipating a monster attack.

No, that knife had been there that night for a different reason.

Dean's eyes were hot for some reason, and he had to choke out the next words. "Part of you is hoping I really am a monster. That way you can die without feeling guilty about leaving Sammy voluntarily."

The young man in front of him flinched as if Dean had struck him. But that vulnerability and hurt was quickly covered by rage.

His younger self snarled, angry. He looked up from the ground, green eyes ablaze with anger. "You know what, fuck you! I don't care what the fuck you are, you have no right to say that shit. I'm. . . I'm leaving."

He turned to walk away. Even in the near-darkness, Dean could see his hands shaking badly.

"But it's true," Dean said quietly.

The younger Dean laughed coldly as he walked away. "Yeah, you're right. And if you're really my guardian angel, you've been doing a pretty shitty job."

Though he was posing as a guardian angel, though he had no idea what was going on or what he was doing, the words still hurt something in Dean's chest.

"I know," the hunter said. His voice was far quieter than he'd anticipated. "I'm sorry."

His younger self paused, standing almost at the exit of the alley. He stayed where he was, fifteen feet from his older version.

Dean swallowed past the tightness in his throat, the heat building in his eyes. The words poured out, products of late nights and empty bottles and endless nightmares and secrets hidden from Sammy. Of the abuse he had borne alone.

"I'm sorry you're hurt. I'm sorry Sammy wants to leave. I'm sorry John beat you on your sixteenth birthday," he said. His voice was choked, barely more than a whisper.

His younger self was still standing there, still not moving. But his slender shoulders were shaking.

"I'm sorry Mo-Mary is dead," Dean said quietly. "I'm sorry you feel so alone."

His younger self turned, and there were tears on his cheeks. "Why? Why do you care?" he whispered.

Dean swallowed, thinking of all the things Sam had ever told him, all the things Cas had ever said. "Because. . . Because you're worth saving," he replied.

He took a step forward. When the younger Dean didn't step back, Dean moved forward again. And again.

As Dean got closer, his previous words still ringing in the air, the younger Dean shook his head. "No. No, I'm not. I'm broken and stupid and useless. I'm only g-good for looking out f-for Sammy, that's the only reason I'm _here_ , I c-can't-I can't-"

Dean closed his eyes for half a second, remembering how he had felt the night of his sixteenth birthday, alone and crying in the back alley of the crappy motel they'd been staying in, nursing bruises from one of John's beatings.

He remembered his fear, his sadness, his loneliness. Saw it reflected back at him in the teary eyes of his sixteen year-old self, somehow placed before him by some ungodly magic.

Dean wordlessly put his arms around his younger self, remembering the ache in his chest that night. The pain that this smaller Dean was feeling now.

When he pulled the teenager to his chest, a dam seemed to break.

With a soft sob, the smaller Dean fell into him, pushing his face into the older Dean's warmth. His knees gave out and Dean caught him, slowly lowering them both to the ground.

When they were both sitting on cold cement, he pulled the younger version of himself against his chest, rubbing his hands up and down his back soothingly.

"Shh, you're alright," he whispered into his hair, remembering what his mother had done when he'd had nightmares when he was younger. "You're okay. It's okay."

The smaller Dean sobbed, clinging to him like he was the last piece of driftwood in the storm. His shoulders, slender but still hard with muscle, shook.

Dean found himself rocking slowly back and forth, whispering soothing words to the young man in his arms. The smaller Dean curled his legs toward him, pressed his face into his chest.

Dean ran his fingers through the boy's hair, smiling softly as it seemed to calm him. The younger Dean slowly stopped crying, his sobs devolving into sniffles and hitches of breath.

Dean rocked slowly back and forth, closing his eyes as he pressed his face to the boy's hair. This situation was so surreal. So impossible. But he was here.

Dean stroked his hands through the younger, smaller Dean's hair, staring out at the filthy alley they were still seated in.

He wished, suddenly, that he had longer. That one hour wasn't all, that he could stay.

But Sam and Cas were waiting for him on the other side. And time was passing, ticking by slowly. 

Dean reached down between them on instinct, grasping gently at the young man's wrist. He rubbed his thumb gently over the scarred skin there, taking in the neat white lines.

"You're going to stop doing this," he said, deep voice quiet.

"Okay," the smaller Dean said quietly, his words muffled by the way his face was still tucked against Dean's chest.

They stayed like that, Dean holding the young man close. After a while, the hunter sighed, remembering the single hour span.

"I have to go soon," he murmured quietly.

"No," his younger self begged. His just-deepening voice cracked. "Please. Please don't leave me."

Dean's heart broke at the desperation on the smaller Dean's face, the way his green eyes filled with tears as he raised his head to look at him. "I'm sorry, Dean. I can't stay here long. My time on. . . on Earth is almost up," he replied.

"Please, I c-can't. . . I can't do it," the younger Dean whispered.

"You can," Dean replied quietly. He held back his wince. "I probably won't see you again."

Tears filled the smaller Dean's green eyes again, slipping down his cheeks silently. "Please," he whispered.

Dean lifted a hand on instinct, resting it against the boy's cheek. When he leaned into the gentle touch, Dean stroked a thumb across his cheekbone. "You are so strong, Dean. I know you can do it."

"I can't," his younger self whispered. "It's too much."

"Every dark night has its dawn," Dean replied, remembering something Cas had once said.

The smaller Dean sniffled and pressed his face harder into the older hunter's hand. "Will you still be there?"

Dean swallowed. "Of course. There are always angels watching over you."

"And Sammy?" the younger Dean asked.

Dean smiled. "Of course."

Seemingly soothed by this thought, the teenage Dean rested his head against his older self's chest. "When do you have to leave?"

"Soon," Dean replied. "You should probably go up to the motel room anyway. Sammy is awake, and he'll be wondering where you are."

His younger self nodded, seemingly spurred on by the thought of Sam. "Okay," he whispered. After a moment, the smaller Dean said, "Thank you."

"Of course. I came to wish you a happy birthday," Dean said, smiling down at the boy in his arms. "I'm sorry I didn't have anything to give you."

"This was enough," teenage Dean said quietly.

He stayed there for a moment longer, as long as he would allow himself. When he pulled away, Dean let him go.

They both stood, dusting off their pants. The sixteen year-old smiled one last time at his guardian angel. "Thank you," he said again, quietly.

"Of course," Dean replied.

"What's your name?" his younger self asked, frowning as if he'd just remembered.

Dean's mind panicked again, and he blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Castiel."

The smaller Dean smiled. "Okay. I'll pray to Castiel."

Dean's knees felt weak, his chest tight, but he smiled. "Yes," he said. "Pray to Castiel."

With a little wave, the younger Dean turned and headed back to the front of the motel. Once he'd turned the corner, Dean sagged against the wall.

He wiped at the tears on his face, closing his eyes. He listened, as if he could hear the whispered conversation that would take place between two brothers when his younger self finally got back to the motel room.

_Where were you, Dean?_

_I was just taking a walk, Sammy. Go to sleep._

_'Night, De._

_'Night, Sammy._

Dean realized this couldn't be the past. Whatever the rules of time travel were. . . this hadn't happened. At least, not in his universe.

But maybe this was a different one.

It seemed that only a moment later, there were hands shaking him. "Dean? Dean, are you okay?" Dean opened his eyes and saw his real guardian angel. Castiel looked worried.

"Heya, Cas," he said quietly.

"Dean, are you alright? You've been gone for over an hour," the angel rasped.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Sam appeared, looking relieved when he saw Dean. "Thank God. Are you okay?"

Dean nodded, holding out the box. Sam winced. "You can get rid of this now."

"Actually, Cas can probably smite it. I researched the symbols, and they don't have any anti-angel things. As far as I know, the box just. . . teleported people. That's all," Sam said.

"That's all," Dean repeated tiredly as the angel beside him turned the box to ash in his palm.

Dean let the ash fall to the floor, exhausted. "Let's go home."

They turned and began to walk out of the house. As they reached the door, Castiel stopped Dean with a gentle hand on his arm.

"Dean? What did you see, when you were gone?" he asked, his blue eyes searching Dean's green ones.

Dean sighed, looking out the cracked, dirty window of the abandoned house. "I don't know. I was in the past. But it was. . . I think it was an alternate universe. I don't know, Cas."

"What did you do?" Castiel asked curiously.

Dean smiled tiredly at the angel. "I saw someone very important, I think."

Castiel watched him for a moment, blue eyes searching. Finally, he seemed to decide that was all he was going to get out of Dean.

He squeezed the hunter's shoulder and turned, leaving the house. 

The older Winchester stood there for a moment, not moving.

Dean was the last to exit, his face turning to the heavens as he stepped out of the old house.

The sky was turning gold, the sun rising. 

As he headed for the parked car in the street, Dean smiled softly to himself.

A few minutes later, the Impala drove away underneath the breaking dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
